


Suspension Bridge, op. 4

by lurrel



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurrel/pseuds/lurrel
Summary: Written for the inception_kink prompt: 4 times Arthur & Eames accidentally forgot they weren't in a dream anymore and almost shot each other in the face during an argument, and 1 time one of them actually did.





	Suspension Bridge, op. 4

**01: Natural**

Eames meets Arthur in a pub in London.

Or, Eames meets Arthur’s gun when he tries to steal Arthur’s wallet in a pub in London.

There’s no hesitation, just a single fluid movement – the second Eames’ hand brushes against Arthur, his arm ripples to his side holster and the gun appears, aimed at his forehead. Eames is trapped in a crouch, Arthur looming over him, still seated at the bar.

“Are you our forger?” Arthur asks, voice disinterested, mouth pursed in disappointment.

“I, er,” Eames starts, and then he takes a deep breath. “Yes. Eames, nice to meet you.” HE removes his hand from Arthur’s back pocket, stands up, and holds it out to shake, smiling winningly. The gun stays trained.

“You’re late,” he says, and Eames hears the safety click.

“Hey!” Dom Cobb is sitting in the stool next to Arthur and Eames will never be more relieved to see him than he is at that moment. Cobb grabs Arthur’s wrist and sweeps his thumb over the veins there. “We’ve woken up.”

Arthur blinks, but his eyes are closed for a little too long, and Eames is unsettled. The gun returns to its holster. 

“I’m Arthur,” he says, taking Eames’ hand in a firm grip.

 

**02: Hover**

Eames works hard to be insufferably perfect at everything he does. His passports are immaculate, his forgeries never get questions questioned, he always wins at blackjack. 

Arthur grumbles about things like “professionalism” and “inappropriate professional wear,” but even Eames knows he won’t even bother calling anyone else for a job that needs his talents. It makes him feel a little proud every time Arthur’s name appears on his cell phone screen, and the sums of money he gets paid by Dom Cobb make him the envy of the world’s thieves and forgers. 

So when they cross-paths at an “industry function” in an absurdly constructed hotel in Dubai, Eames doesn’t expect to see Arthur in the corner chatting with Ravi, who is second-rate at best. Arthur’s long fingers are wrapped around a crystal tumbler of some golden brown illegal liquor, and Ravi's teeth are shining. 

They’re laughing.

Eames is drunk, but Eames is often drunk. His vision doesn't often snap red, and territorial isn't his usual style. But there he is, striding across the room regardless, itchy hands and a snarling mouth. 

Later, he blames it on the Burj al Arab, its ludicrous construction, its very existence, for why he can’t tell that the room is real and not in his mind.

Later. 

First, though, he crowds them both against the wall, putting a crushing grip on Arthur’s right shoulder. 

“Sorry, Rav, can I borrow Arthur for a bit?” he asks, but it’s not really a question -- his left hand is resting on the gun under his jacket. Ravi scampers away and Arthur’s eyes clench tightly. His breathing is obscenely regular, nostrils flaring just once. 

“Eames,” he says placidly when he opens his eyes. Under Eames' grip, Arthur's entire body is tensed, ready to spring.

“Arthur,” he replies lightly and pushes his gun into the man’s temple. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right. Such a surprise.”

“And with Ravi, no less. Planning a job, eh? Networking? Thinking you might want to cut old Eames out of something?” He grinds the gun in. 

“No,” says Arthur blandly.

Everyone in the room is pretending not to see them, which strikes Eames as very unprojection-like behavior. Fucking Arthur always has to find new ways under his skin.

“Then what was that little tryst I just saw, darling?” he hisses.

“Maybe I was just _flirting_ , Eames.”

It startles him enough that Arthur can grab his wrist and twist the gun out of his hand. He’s on the floor with Arthur’s foot pinning him down before he knows what’s happened. 

“Drunk makes you stupid,” he says at Eames. “So don’t be when I see you next.” Arthur casually tosses an envelope on the ground next to Eames’ head.

“You might want to invest in a totem,” Arthur says as he walks away.

The envelope has “Mr. Eames” written on it in neat, printed letters. 

Inside is a job.

 

**03: Passing Change**

Arthur’s hands never stop moving.

Eames notices, because there is no way to not notice those long fingers as they tap a pen on a desk, or scribble notes in a Moleskine, or straighten his tie. He paces, too, when he’s trying to figure out a map or how to construct a building. Sometimes Cobb hires an architect, depending on the complexity of the job -- he often just leaves the work to Arthur. Eames bets Arthur can forge passably as well, able to play any role at a moment’s notice. 

So Eames is fascinated by just how still Arthur can be when hooked to the PASIV device. His hands uncurl and hang at his side, or sit clasped serenely on his belly, only his chest rising and falling. 

He watches when he can, making sure to stay behind him, out of his line of vision upon waking.

Which Arthur does, screaming this time, and Eames grabs his shoulders from behind to keep him from toppling out of his chair. Arthur jerks in his arms, all coiled muscle and panic, and he pulls a gun that Eames didn’t even know he was packing. It hits him in the underside of his chin, and Arthur is wild-eyed.

“Arthur, Arthur, it’s okay, you’re awake.” Eames keeps shushing him and murmuring endearments as he slowly moves his hands from Arthur’s shoulders and raises them in the air. “Nothing here’s going to touch you, pet.”

The gun knocks against his jaw bone as Arthur slumps over, grip loosening.

“Should I wake up Cobb?” Eames asks quietly.

Arthur laughs. There’s an ugliness to it that’s unfamiliar. “He’ll be under for a while longer now." His eyes slam shut and he leans back again. “Guess we have some time to ourselves for once,” he says, eyes still closed, gun returned to its hiding spot. He tilts back, the top of his head bumping against Eames’ chest, and that’s when Eames decides to kiss him.

Then, Eames runs.

 

**04: Hesitation**

Eames touches him too much. It’s intentional, of course.

They don’t talk about much anymore. Eames has decided he doesn’t want to know too much about Cobb, which necessitates keeping a certain distance from Arthur as well. They're too tightly knit, and what he's already learned, he wants to forget. When he matches incidents to the tightening of Arthur’s face or a shadow in Cobb’s eyes, he stops digging.

He’d tried to forge Arthur, once, and had failed spectacularly.

Of course keeping away doesn't mean leaving him alone. He still grabs his shoulder, or slides a hand over Arthur's to grab something. And when Arthur asked if he was in fighting shape, who knew what they'd find down a level, Eames can't help but grin.

"Is that a challenge?" he asks. Arthur answers him with a shrug, then a smirk as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

They're alone, the warehouse is dark and the full of antiques, old printing machinery and more. Strange and long shadows fall over the mat Arthur hauls out just for this purpose, always prepared. Eames might no longer be digging into his background but he likes to look, likes the way shadows stripe over his now-exposed collar, the thin fabric of his undershirt. 

And Eames can't help himself -- proximity makes him less cautious and more curious. Walking to the mat, he ruffles Arthur’s hair and gets a snort and files that away, learning Arthur without learning about him. He memorizes the way Arthur snarls and twists his neck to get away, and the way their eyes lock before either of them moves.

Eames fights dirty and Arthur expects it, but this time he gets the drop, knocking Arthur over and pinning him. Arthur huffs under his weight but manages to ratchet him off with powerful legs and Eames scrambles to his feet.

They circle each other and each movement promises violence. There’s never a winner when they spar, and this match is no different. It only ends when first blood is drawn –- this time, Eames’ elbow smashing into Arthur’s nose.

The crunch breaks them up, and Arthur shifts into his normal stance of calm and collected, even with one hand pinching his nose, his shirt bloody.

“Good fight, hmm?” Eames says – he is panting and damp.

“As usual.” Arthur tilts his head back. "I don't think you broke it."

When Arthur comes out of the bathroom, tidy again, Eames is also already dressed, and is leaning against the wall near a record player Ariadne had dug up from an upstairs office. Arthur adjusts his tie and levels a long gaze at him.

“What’s all this?” Arthur’s curiosity is piqued, so Eames counts that as a victory. 

“I thought we could practice a little more close combat,” Eames says as he moves the needle over the LP. He gives himself the luxury of a self-satisfied smirk as Strauss (II, of course) starts to play.

“Oh?” Arthur’s face twitches and something like a real smile runs over his mouth when Eames holds out his hand. 

Eames is a little startled at how well Arthur follows, keeping his arms stiff and his gaze to the side of Eames’ face. His Viennese is almost competition perfect; Eames feels they could be in a ballroom as they lilt around the room, avoiding the desks and models. He enjoys the warmth of Arthur's chest near his own, and the way their legs move in concert.

When Eames spins him at the end of the song, he breaks form and dips the man low, draping himself over Arthur. He steals the kiss, and feels a little thrill run up his spine when Arthur’s mouth opens into his. 

They break quickly, and Arthur’s eyes are unfocused. “Eames,” he warns, voice a growl. They both look down at the gun in Arthur’s hand. It’s already cocked. 

Arthur runs.

 

**05: Reverse Turn**

Arthur can’t take a fucking joke.

The bullet lands in the wall an inch from Eames’ ear.

Eames’ shot is a little wild, so his returning one hits the door frame of his hotel room, the wood that is surrounding Arthur’s form as he stands with his teeth bared, gun drawn.

“What the fuck?”

Eames thinks now that maybe the champagne and chocolates were a little too forward. Perhaps he shouldn’t have sent the singing telegram. The balloons were definitely too much.

“You didn’t think I was going to let our anniversary pass without any fanfare, did you?”

Arthur shoots again, the bullet joining its sibling in framing the sides of Eames’ face in the wall. They lock eyes, and Eames can hear both of them breathing heavily. Arthur’s gun arm trembles. Eames doesn't blink.

“Careful there, Arthur, my face is a priceless commodity in several countries.” 

“Shut up,” Arthur grinds out, but he stalks toward Eames anyway.

“It’s the anniversary of the first time I got your gun in my face, I mean,” Eames continues, and he grins. 

“I said shut up.”

“I knew I should have got the roses –“ and then Arthur shuts him up, open mouth against open mouth.

The guns drop to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Pour one out for the ole Inception kink meme ([the prompt over at inception_kink](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/4946.html?thread=6690642#t6690642)). Thanks to my beta sorrynotsorry! This has been lightly edited from it's original LJ version.
> 
> Title from [Johann Strauss' Kettenbrücke-Walzer](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kettenbr%C3%BCcke-Walzer), or Chain Bridge Waltz, or Suspension Bridge Waltz. Section headings are waltz moves. Listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxCIwKA9RIA).


End file.
